


Glasnost

by My_Alter_Ego



Category: White Collar
Genre: Dangerous Stings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, On the Run, Russian Mafia, Sexual Trafficking of Abducted Children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-24 17:43:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13816224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Alter_Ego/pseuds/My_Alter_Ego
Summary: The FBI is trying to take down an evil Russian who is the purveyor of young children for sexual purposes. Unfortunately, the Bureau can’t seem to find a way to accomplish that feat. Would Neal be willing to help?





	1. An Extreme Solution

**Author's Note:**

> “Glasnost” is a word coined by former Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev back in 1985. Its meaning is the practice of promoting a wider dissemination of information. As you read this short story, I hope you will see the correlation.

Neal was standing close to a pier in Sheepshead Bay, an area not far from Coney Island and Brighton Beach. He wasn’t alone. A swarthy, hard-eyed man was peering at him speculatively while two muscle-bound thugs stood bracketing the young man on both sides.

“I can certainly bring some invaluable expertise to the table, Demitri, and widen your overseas market base,” Neal said with quiet bravado. “You’d be foolish to turn down my offer.”

The short, compact bear of a man didn’t look convinced. “My businesses are flourishing and have been for quite some time. Why would I even consider hiring more help?”

“Because I’m not talking about your laundromats, Comrade,” Neal said softly. “I have my eye on the bigger prize.”

The Russian laughed. “Aren’t you at a bit of a disadvantage, my eager young friend? Surely, you cannot expect to go gallivanting wherever you please with a bracelet on your ankle.”

“There’s an easy fix for that dilemma,” Neal scoffed. “Just as I’ve told you, I’m prepared to make some  adjustments.”

Those words had barely left his lips when everyone heard the stridently shouted command.

_“FBI!! Hands above your heads!”_

Peter Burke had suddenly materialized out of the darkness, his service weapon clutched firmly in a two-handed grip. The tableau seemed frozen for a nanosecond before Neal lunged to his left as quick as a striking cobra. In one fluid movement, he grabbed the pistol nestled in the waistband of the nearest goon, turned to sight Peter in the crosshairs, and pulled the trigger.

Peter’s eyes went wide in confusion, realizing too late that a man whom he considered to be non-violent had just shattered that myth. Then the shocked FBI agent was flying backwards, his body hitting the ground at the same time as a telltale circle of red blossomed on his shirt front.

Neal didn’t miss a step. He merely snorted and flipped the gun into the air towards the surprised bodyguard. Nonchalantly strolling over to the fallen agent, the assassin gave a little nudge with the toe of his shoe. Peter was unresponsive, so Neal bent down, placed his arms under the corpse’s torso, and began dragging him towards the water’s edge. It certainly wasn’t easy to move dead weight, so he glanced up irritably at the bodyguard.

“A little help here, you stupid lummox!” Neal spat out in perfect Russian.

After a slight nod from his boss, the thug cooperated by grabbing Peter’s legs. At the end of the pier, they let the body slip from their grasp to sink into the inky depths of the bay. 

“So, let’s revisit the issue, Demitri,” the con man said pleasantly as he shot the French cuffs on his shirt sleeves and straightened his tie. “Did I just pay my initiation fee to enter your little clubhouse?”

“Perhaps,” the Russian answered thoughtfully as he gave Neal a careful, probing look before continuing with his answer.

“Eventually, that unfortunate FBI agent will wash up on some bank downstream. The coroner will determine the approximate time of his demise, and then the forensic technicians will do their thing. They will cleverly calculate currents and tides, and further speculate where he may have been dumped into the water. However, I think that we shall make it a bit easier for them, my impetuous friend. We’ll provide them with a breadcrumb trail starting with the Fed’s car. We’ll leave it behind for them to find.”

Demitri looked over the side of the pier and caught sight of Peter’s body as it bobbed, face-up, to the surface. Then he came to stand in front of Neal and drew a lethal switchblade from the pocket of his jacket. Neal tried not to tense as the Russian knelt and sawed through the hard neoprene anklet. In seconds, a beeping could be heard as the tracking device lay on the rough planks of the jetty, its red light blinking furiously.

“Now your fate is sealed, _Comrade_ ,” Demitri sneered. “The FBI will know that you were here at the time of the murder, and then, like a guilty man, you fled. If you are captured, talking your way out of that will be impossible. So, I would advise you to make yourself scarce and prevent that from happening. I’ll even provide you with a ride into the city to give you a head start before the hounds take up the chase.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Peter heard the roar of a distant car engine and the crunch of tires on gravel. He prudently waited for at least ten minutes before he stroked to the side of the bay and heaved himself up the wet and slippery embankment. The front of his white shirt was now a Rorschach study in pink from the diluted exploding dye pack taped to the front of his tactical vest. When he unbuttoned the soggy garment, he found a spent slug embedded in the body armor right over his heart. Peter said a silent thanks to his partner and his remarkable gun skills. Pulling off this whole dangerous scenario had rested squarely on Neal’s shoulders, and the timing had needed to be precise and absolutely perfect.

Peter’s shoes squished as he walked down the dark road to his car. He had left the vehicle unlocked just in case he somehow managed to lose his keys in the dangerous drama. He slid his hand down the tight slit that separated the top and bottom of the passenger seat and pulled out an untraceable burner phone. With fingers that were now becoming numb with the cold, he speed-dialed a number.

“It’s in play,” he said quietly.

~~~~~~~~~~

Months before, the FBI had become aware of a Russian player who was responsible for smuggling very young, innocent girls into the country from the Soviet Union. Once these children, most no older than eleven or twelve, reached New York they were auctioned off to the highest bidder like prize animals at a county fair. Interpol had worked diligently to find the procurer of those innocents in Eastern Europe, but he or she was as elusive as a wisp of smoke.

Peter and his team in Manhattan had taken up the torch on their side of the Atlantic. They sought to find out who actually took possession of the missing girls when they made landfall in New York. After months of working snitches on the streets, bartering deals with arrested perps, and keeping an ear to the ground, Demitri Androvitz’s name was the only constant that they heard. The Feds did their due diligence and quietly looked into him very, very closely.

Androvitz was a Russian national who had emigrated to Brighton Beach almost a decade ago. He had seemed to flourish in his adopted country, buying up storefronts throughout the neighborhood and taking a page out of Al Capone’s book of tricks. The notorious mobster from the Prohibition Era had been born in Brooklyn, New York, but moved west to Chicago to make his fortune. Capone was said to have regularly deposited substantial amounts of cash from his string of “very” profitable laundromats into various Chicago banks. Thus, the term “money laundering” was coined by the investigating authorities to describe this practice of hiding illicit money gleaned from bootlegging.

Demitri Androvitz had also turned his newly-acquired storefronts into laundromats that were just as busy as Capone’s had been in Chicago. Likewise, this enabled him to routinely drop large sums of money into Russian-owned banks in Little Odessa. There were either a lot of clean shirts in Brighton Beach, or he was on the receiving end of those shipments of pre-pubescent children and selling them for profit.

Having suspicions, even knowing it was a fact, was not enough to nail Androvitz to the wall. The Bureau had no hard evidence even though they bird-dogged the man relentlessly. They watched him visit his business enterprises on a daily basis, always with the same two body guards flanking him. They watched him sit for hours in Russian coffee houses. They watched him go to the bank and make deposits. The surveilling agents fought off boredom day after day and wondered if they had been made and the gangster was merely playing with them. Eventually, Neal was sent in to make the man’s acquaintance and attempt to gain a toehold in the door. So far, that had proven to be fruitless. In desperation, it was Peter who had brainstormed his own part in a very dangerous sting to shake things up. When he outlined the plot to Neal, the con man was reluctant to endorse the idea.

“Peter, so much could go wrong,” he objected.

“And I’ll be depending on you to make it right,” Peter argued stubbornly.

“Peter, we’re talking about a real gun with real bullets. If my timing is off, one of Androvitz’s goons may take it upon himself to start shooting at you before I ever get the chance.”

“So, your timing must be impeccable before ‘Dumb and Dumber’ decide to start their own target practice,” Peter quickly retorted. “Listen, Buddy, I am placing all my faith in you to pull this off. Don’t let me down.”

“You actually want me to shoot you,” Neal said miserably.

“Yep,” Peter agreed. “That just shows how much trust I have in you, Neal. It’s the only way to convince Androvitz that you’re serious about rabbiting from the Bureau and striking out on your own. All that your lip service has gotten you so far is suspicion, and he’s never going to allow you anywhere near his disgusting enterprise until you prove you’re worth.”

In the end, the ultimate decision rested with Reese Hughes, Peter’s superior at the Bureau.

“Peter, this is over-the-top crazy, and I don’t like it one bit,” the old man groused. “It’s something that I would more likely expect to come out of his mouth,” he declared as he nodded his head towards Neal.

Neal immediately spoke up. “As bizarre as it sounds, Agent Hughes, for once I’m going to agree with you—at least about this being a crazy idea. I just need more time to wear Androvitz down.”

Peter ignored Neal’s comment as he continued. “Reese, it turns my stomach when we find these young girls either dead or so severely traumatized that they’ll never be normal again. Androvitz must be stopped. Neal has been trying to work him for weeks, but the guy is really paranoid and cautious, so this is our Hail Mary play.”

The old curmudgeon looked at the two men for a few seconds before addressing Neal directly.

“Caffrey, go take a walk and get some coffee. I wish to talk to Peter without you being present.”

When Peter and his superior were alone, Hughes immediately placed his cards on the table.

“Peter, you may want to trust Caffrey with your life, but I can’t get on board with that. He’s a con man, one who very cleverly allows you to see only what he wants you to see. The massive bulk of that dangerous iceberg is lurking beneath the surface. I keep picturing him as a wolf in sheep’s clothing. To be candid, I certainly don’t trust him any farther than I can throw him. Your ludicrous proposal could actually set him up in the catbird’s seat. What’s to stop him from taking advantage of the opportunity to get out from under our thumbs and embark on a whole other career that is a lot more nefariously evil?”

Peter looked his boss in the eye and exposed his own poker hand. “Neal is a lot of things, but he’s not a killer. I understand him, Reese. If you look beneath the slick veneer, he has his own vulnerabilities that he tries to hide. However, I _know_ that he really has a good heart. He would never do anything to hurt me.”

“Could you be the one wearing rose-colored glasses and picturing him as you want him to be?” Hughes said sarcastically to his best agent.

“Reese, you and I have known each other for a really long time. You know about my gut instincts. Please have as much faith in me as I have in Neal.”

Hughes frowned. “An unfettered Caffrey sounds like a nightmare, and, if I give in and sanction this, his ‘escape’ will happen on my watch. I’m nearing retirement age and I want to go out in style instead of with a blot in my copybook.”

“Reese, you _will_ go out in high style when Neal and I take down this monster,” Peter said earnestly.

Hughes sighed dramatically before opening his door, stepping out onto the second-floor balcony, and summoning Neal with his trademark two-finger gesture. Neal had been loitering near the steps and immediately trotted back up to Hughes’ inner sanctum.

Hughes was glaring as he now addressed the CI.

“Caffrey, I must be getting senile to consider this parody that you and Peter have cooked up. Mark my words, young man, if I even catch a whiff of deceit on your part, I will hunt you down and I will end you. I have contacts in high places who will make sure that your body is never found. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” Neal grimaced. Man, Hughes was one sweet old teddy bear, the sarcastic con man thought to himself.

“Now, I suppose that it's only fair to also warn you about other repercussions,” the ASAC continued as everyone once again took a seat.

“This operation needs to be off-book and buttoned up tight to prevent leaks. Only a very select few can be made aware of the truth. Peter has suggested reading in both Jones and Berrigan, but no one else in this office except for me. So, you will not have the FBI as backup. In fact, every agent as well as the US Marshal’s service will be out hunting you. That puts you in a lot of crosshairs, Caffrey, and your luck may not hold. Are you willing to risk your neck like that? You only have another year left on your parole. You could certainly sit this one out and play it safe.”

“Playing it safe has never been my modus operandi,” Neal joked, but Hughes just continued to scowl.

In exasperation, Neal gave Hughes a lame smile. “Look, Agent Hughes, I know that Peter’s plan is convoluted and has a lot of moving parts. Nonetheless, he and I will fine-tune everything until we actually think that it’s ready to be put into motion. I will have his back and he’ll have mine, just like always. If there’s even a chance that it will work, then we’re the ones to do it. I have operated with a lot less insurance in years gone by and I’ve managed to survive.”

“Make sure that _both_ of you manage to survive,” Hughes barked. “And definitely keep in touch while you’re in deep cover, Caffrey. Send updates to Peter even if it’s only innocuous little birthday cards!”

Peter and Neal looked stunned for a few seconds when Hughes voice that revelation. Maybe the old man was like the Illuminati’s “all-seeing eye.” That was an even scarier concept than ten Androvitz clones!

~~~~~~~~~~

Having gained Hughes tacit approval, Peter and Neal started laying the groundwork for their deception. In the following weeks, there was an apparent schism that developed between agent and CI. Neal became obnoxious and belligerent, loudly voicing his displeasure with Peter’s orders. Peter reacted in kind, and vehemently chastised and berated Neal in front of everyone in the bullpen causing the CI to stomp out of the office in anger. The other agents were baffled by this change in attitude between two people who seemed to have forged a bond in recent years. Not surprisingly, they took their cues from Peter and began to distance themselves from Neal and to cast suspicious eyes in his direction. Of course, people like to gossip, even FBI agents. So, Peter and Neal fervently hoped that Androvitz somehow got wind of the shift in their dynamic.

In the meantime, Neal continued to prod Androvitz. “I’m really ready for a change of scenery,” he told the Russian. “I’ve been the FBI’s whipping boy for far too long. Now, in my heyday while plying my talents abroad, I made valuable connections all over the world. I could open a lot of doors for you, Demitri. Just say the word and I’ll blow this pop stand in a heartbeat.”

Finally, the mobster decided to take the bait and put Neal to the test. “If you are indeed serious, Mr. Caffrey, then you’ll have to prove it. Why don’t you use that brilliant mind of yours to come up with something that may convince me that you are telling the truth?”

Neal pretended to ponder Androvitz’s suggestion. “How about I take Burke out of the equation, once and for all? He’s the only one who was lucky enough to have trapped me years ago, and he’s made my life hell since then by gloating and acting like a master puppeteer yanking my strings whenever it pleases him.”

“That’s an extreme solution,” Androvitz murmured thoughtfully, “but one that is very appealing. Nevertheless, I would have to see it happen with my own eyes.”

“Just tell me where and when and I’ll work my magic,” Neal said confidently.

“Why don’t we enact this little drama in my playground,” the mobster said as he named a secluded little dock in Sheepshead Bay.”


	2. Flying Away

After Neal had “killed” Peter and disposed of his body in front of the Russian mobster, he was hustled into a waiting Mercedes. Androvitz and company drove back to the city and pushed Neal out onto a corner of Broadway amongst the neon lights of theaters enacting other intense dramas on safe little stages.

“We’ll be in touch,” Androvitz promised.

Neal knew that he had only a small window of time to make his getaway. He quickly strode up the ramp of a nearby parking garage and went from tier to tier inspecting each car parked in a slot. He settled on an older model sedan that didn’t seem to have as many bells and whistles that would send out an alarm. He tore the windshield wiper from the front of an adjacent vehicle and stripped away the rubber from the metal support. After a few twists, he had fashioned his own slim jim, and within moments was inside his chosen getaway car hotwiring the engine into life.

He drove sedately out onto the street after calmly paying the parking attendant. Then he headed towards Staten Island and a safe house that Mozzie had graciously provided. Neal hoped that Peter was also on his way to another of Mozzie’s little hidey holes, courtesy of Jones and Diana. Neal smiled when he recalled Mozzie’s unhappy grousing about a Fed tainting his sanctuary. The little man insisted that acquiring safe houses was an expensive endeavor. After this little caper was over, he fully expected to be monetarily reimbursed out of an FBI business expense account.

It wasn’t long before Neal realized that he had acquired a not unexpected tail. Good—now Androvitz would know where to find him when the evil man deemed the time was right. Eventually, the con on the run drove through an older suburban neighborhood with residents all tucked safely away in their beds. He pulled into the driveway of a small detached house and stowed the stolen car in the garage. Neal found the key exactly where Mozzie said it would be and let himself inside. There were blackout shades on every window, and Neal was sure that the structure was free of any listening devises. Mozzie routinely swept for bugs and had even installed a signal jammer that could be activated with the push of a button. Before Neal enabled that little toy, he took a burner phone out of a kitchen drawer and called Peter on a similar phone.

“Are you in place?” Neal asked apprehensively.

He heard Peter sigh. “Actually, where I am right at this minute is a windowless little room below a dilapidated and abandoned warehouse in Queens. To put it mildly, it has very few creature comforts,” Peter complained. “I think it may have been a shoe factory at one time because I can still smell old leather even way down here twelve feet below ground.

Neal laughed. “So, you’re good.”

“That’s a relative term, Buddy. I suppose that I’m as good as can be expected,” Peter answered sarcastically. “Existing like a subterranean mole in a damp space doesn’t bode well for my health. I may actually develop pneumonia, especially after being immersed in a cold body of water. Neal, please tell me why it was necessary to toss me into the river?”

“Because, Peter,” Neal said patiently, “if I left you lying there on the ground, one of those thugs may have felt for a pulse. And when he found one, he would have gone for a head shot to seal the deal. I had to make you unavailable to them so that they couldn’t fill you with even more lead.”

“Fair enough,” Peter finally admitted. “Jones and Diana have told me that they each got an alert on their phones to be on the lookout for an escaped and fleeing criminal who was armed and dangerous. So, for the short term, you need to keep your head down, too. Does Androvitz know where you are?”

“Yep,” Neal answered. “They dumped me back in Manhattan and then clumsily followed me here to Staten Island. Our target will probably play it safe for a bit before contacting me again. I’ll keep you in the loop. Until then, hang tough, Peter.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The Bureau had become a busy and avenging beehive of activity. One of their own had been betrayed and slain by a snake in the grass and they were out for payback. Neal Caffrey’s life wouldn’t be worth a plug nickel if they were ever lucky enough to run him to ground. Of course, Hughes had named Jones and Diana to spearhead the manhunt, while the Marshals conducted their own search. As yet, there had been no sightings and it was frustrating for everybody.

Three days later, there was a planned memorial service for Peter at a nearby hotel’s hospitality room. Everyone was aware that Elizabeth Burke had decided to have her husband’s remains cremated as soon as they had been released. El knew this was all a charade since Peter had briefed her in detail about the sting before it all went down. Unfortunately, she wasn’t quite sure whose ashes were in the urn solemnly presented to her by the funeral director.

So, instead of an interment, friends and colleagues came together to mourn and keep Peter’s memory alive during their touching eulogies and tributes. The turnout was inspiring as were the stories and the accolades. At first, Elizabeth had remained stoic with Reese Hughes’ arm tucked around her protectively. But then her composure actually faltered as unbidden tears coursed down her cheeks. Even though she knew that Peter was alive and well, she couldn’t help thinking that this scene might one day be real. The life of an FBI agent was a dangerous one, and her husband had made his share of enemies as he put criminals away behind bars. She vowed that she would never take anything for granted ever again.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I heard your memorial service was quite touching, or at least that’s what Mozzie claimed,” Neal said when he next contacted Peter. “How does it feel to be immortal, Peter?”

“Lonely,” the FBI agent snipped.

“Now, you do realize, Peter, that a good con is always about patience and timing,” Neal tried to placate his handler.

“I guess you would know,” the recently “deceased” man answered irritably.

“Just part of my charm and inspiring panache, Peter. Now please stop complaining and being grumpy like Hughes. Your head has a shiny halo over it while mine has a really tempting big price blinking like a friggin’ marquee. Why don’t you trying meditating? Mozzie claims that helps one to achieve inner peace. Give it a whirl, Partner!”

Peter hung up on Neal!

~~~~~~~~~~

A very long and boring week later, “Dumb and Dumber” showed up at Neal’s door.

“The boss wants to see you,” they growled in Russian.

Neal slipped a baggy sweatshirt over his jeans and pulled the hood down low over his face as he accompanied his escorts to a Mercedes with tinted windows. The two goons completed his ensemble with a roughly-tied blindfold. They drove quite awhile until they yanked him from the car and dragged him into some sort of building. Androvitz was seated, front and center, in a furnished room when the blindfold was removed. The Russian had a young and obviously frightened little girl on his lap as he looked up at Neal with a leer.

“This is one of my new little protégés who needs to be mentored,” he told a bewildered Neal. “For your ultimate test of loyalty to me, you will have the privilege of being the first to break her in so that she can be capable of adequately pleasuring men in the future.”

Androvitz stood and took the girl by the hand. Like a narcotized little robot, she docilely followed him into an adjacent room that contained a bed, a low wattage lamp, and a nightstand. Neal stood ramrod stiff as he noted the small Bunsen burner, metal spoon, and water pipe situated next to some irregularly shaped white nuggets that he assumed were crack cocaine.

“For either you or her,” Androvitz said cruelly. “It’s her debut tonight, but it’s your show, so you can decide.”

“I don’t perform for an audience, Pal,” Neal said nastily, “so close the door on your way out!”

Once Androvitz had exited the room, Neal looked down at this lost little urchin who had fearfully retreated to a shadowy corner. He held his hand out to her, but she shied away and began to tremble. So, not knowing what else to do, he began to speak quietly to her in Russian.

“I won’t hurt you, little one, I promise. I know that you’re scared, and I am, too. I’m afraid that if we can’t pretend some things, that man outside is going to hurt both of us. Please say that you’ll help me,” Neal begged.

The little girl’s eyes were wide and disbelieving and she shook her head from side to side. This was going to take a lot of patient coaxing, and Neal hoped he would be able to gain her trust. He gingerly sat on the side of the bed with his hands folded non-threateningly in his lap.

“My name is Neal,” he began softly. “I’m a lot older than you, but I still remember how scary it was to feel lost and abandoned. You see, my Dad went away one day when I was a little kid, and he never came back. Then my mother seemed to be so sad that she forgot all about me. I thought maybe that was all my fault because I wasn’t a good enough little boy. So, I did everything that I could to be a really good son to make her happy again. But it never seemed to help, and I always felt powerless and alone,” he finished with a sad shrug of his shoulders.

Neal noticed that he seemed to have captured the child’s attention, so he continued softly. “Sometimes, as I got older, I even did some naughty things just to get her to notice me. I wasn’t a really bad kid, you understand. Most of what I did was just silly little pranks. Unfortunately, that didn’t work either. So, do you want to know what I did after that?” Neal asked his little companion temptingly.

“What did you do?” she finally whispered back.

“I began to take myself to new places in my imagination—fun and magical places where I could be anyone that I wanted to be. Sometimes, I was a cowboy on a white horse, sometimes a pirate standing on the deck of a tall ship with big sails, and sometimes even a brave policeman like my Dad once was. And, do you want to know a little secret? Sometimes I still do that with my mind. I pretend to be somebody else instead of myself, and it makes a bad situation a bit easier to tolerate.”

“That seems very sad,” the young girl murmured as Neal noted just a hint of trust blossom in her eyes.

“I think so, too,” he agreed, “but sometimes that’s the only option that we have when we find ourselves in a scary situation. We make the best of it by pretending, and that’s what both of us have to do right now.”

“He’s a bad man, isn’t he,” she whispered. Neal knew that she was referring to the Russian beyond the door.

“Yes, he is, little one, and we have to play our part in order to survive. Can you do that?”

The girl nodded solemnly, and when Neal patted the mattress, she slowly came forward to sit rigidly beside him.

“Would you tell me your name?” he asked gently.

“Alina,” she finally answered in a small voice, “and I’m eleven years old,” she added.

“That’s a very beautiful name,” Neal smiled at her.

The moments ticked by as they sat, side by side, until Neal began to feel the girl’s tenseness soften.

“Would you like me to tell you a story, Alina, that will take us far away from here?”

The child looked up at Neal trustingly and nodded. So, he gently placed an arm around her shoulder and began to murmur in a low, soothing tone. Before long, Alina was leaning into Neal’s side as he related the intriguing adventures of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves and described, in great detail, magnificent treasures that were revealed with the magic words, “Open Sesame.”

The young girl’s eyes grew heavy as she listened to the hypnotic cadence of Neal’s voice. Eventually, she fell into an exhausted sleep, nestled close to him in a bed that was supposed to be the scene of cruel debauchery. The story teller very carefully placed her to the side, and then set to work with an idea hatched on the spur of the moment after he had taken stock of his immediate surroundings.

Neal didn’t know how much time Androvitz had allotted for “mentoring,” so he quickly picked up the spoon on the night table and began loosening the knob on the small drawer. When he had extricated the long screw that held it in place, he pulled up his sleeve and used the sharp point to make a small but deep laceration on the inside of his forearm. He liberally sprinkled the flow of blood onto the sheets in the center of the mattress. After pressure with his thumb finally caused the cut to coagulate, he again climbed next to the girl and held her close.

Twenty minutes later, without warning, Androvitz came through the door like a charging Russian bear. Alina startled and then shrank back against Neal’s chest. The Russian took in the scene, saw the rusty remnants of blood on the sheets and smiled maliciously.

“Well, it seems as if you partook of the pleasures I offered and even captured that little piece’s heart. How enchanting! I must admit that I was skeptical when it remained so quiet in here.”

Neal gave Androvitz a condescending smile. “It all boils down to technique, Comrade, and mine is excellent. I have no trouble making females of any age eat out of my hand when I take my time.”

“But you didn’t avail yourself of the crack?” the Russian remarked as he noted the unused apparatus on the night table.

“That’s never been my scene,” Neal said forcefully.

The Russian snorted in derision. “Well, since you mentioned ‘scene,’ I believe it is now time for a change of yours, my friend. Having passed my final test with flying colors, you must prove your worth and put your money where your mouth is. My associates will escort you to Teterboro after you leave here. There’s a private jet awaiting you. You’ll make a fast stop in Panama to pick up some cash, warm clothes, and a new passport. Then you will continue to wing your way around the world to the Eastern bloc countries. Someone will be waiting on that end to provide you with further instructions.”

Neal had been blindsided by this swiftly-moving turn of events. He tried to hide it under a cocky veneer. “Hey, maybe I should stop back at my place first, just to unplug the coffee pot,” he said flippantly. “And perhaps, since Alina and I have become such close friends, I could take her home for an encore before I leave on what sounds like a really long journey. A man has needs, you know, and tonight just felt like an appetizer before the main meal.”

“I really don’t care about your needs, Caffrey. You’re on my payroll now, and what I say goes!”

So, without any immediate options, Neal turned one last time toward a doomed little girl and hugged her close. “Let your mind take you away, little one, to a better place,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m going to adapt a special quote for you to always remember: ‘S _he thought that she could fly, so she did.’_ Now it is time for you to soar, my sweet Alina.”

A very sad Neal knew there was nothing he could do to rescue this desolate child from a terrible fate, and the guilt was eating him alive.


	3. You're Where?

Two weeks had passed with no word from Neal. Peter was getting antsy with his current state of being “dead.” He missed his wife, he missed his dog, and he was worried about Neal. Things could have gone pear-shaped, and he fretted that the young con man could be dead for real because Peter’s frantic calls to his phone informed him that the recipient was unavailable. That could mean that either Neal had his phone turned off or he had lost it. Neither scenario seemed to bode well for the undercover CI.

To help get Peter through this ordeal of waiting, Hughes, Jones, and Diana stopped by twice a week under the cover of darkness. They brought thermal carriers of El’s home-cooked meals and a stack of crossword puzzle books for a frustrated man who was slowly going out of his mind.

“I hate to say this, Peter,” Hughes remarked one evening, “but maybe Caffrey took advantage of an opportunity and is now permanently in the wind.”

“He wouldn’t do that, Reese,” Peter said in denial. “He’ll get in contact when he can, that is, if he’s able.”

That became Peter’s mantra over the coming days. One evening as Peter again received his visitors and got caught up on current events at the Bureau office, his previously silent burner phone trilled. He quickly dove for it and noted an international number displayed on the LCD screen.

“Yeah?”  the FBI agent said cautiously. Suddenly, Peter’s face relaxed and a wide smile appeared.

“Thank God, Neal!  I was beginning to think that Androvitz had you killed. Where are you?”

As Hughes and the other members of Peter’s team looked on expectantly, they watched Peter’s face take on a confused expression.

“You’re where?” he asked incredulously.

Seeing raised eyebrows all around, Peter hesitated. “Wait a minute, Buddy. Say that again after I put you on speaker. Hughes, Jones, and Diana are all here with me, and they need to be clued in.”

“Listen guys, I can’t talk long,” Neal’s rushed, tinny-sounding voice said over the static. “Like I said, Peter, I’m currently in Estonia on the Baltic Sea. If you look at a map of northern Europe, you’ll see Tallinn, the capital city, is only a six-hour drive from St. Petersburg, Russia, which is the hunting ground for the girls. My in-country counterpart has been showing me the ropes about procuring merchandise for Androvitz, and the guy is not exactly a trusting soul. He keeps a close eye on me, and this is the first opportunity I’ve had to slip away and buy a phone. It took a whole lot of vodka to make that possible.”

“Keep talking Neal for as long as it’s safe, but don’t put your life in jeopardy,” Peter pleaded.

So, Neal did. He explained how his current shadow and a cadre of his cronies scoured the streets of Russian villages for orphans or runaways living a hand-to-mouth existence. The hunters would entice them with lies of a better life. When in need of more warm bodies, they brazenly abducted little girls from playgrounds or as they were walking home from school. When a quota was reached, the little children were concealed within a huge, box-like structure and loaded onto the overnight ferry that ran between Estonia and Helsinki, Finland. At that point, they were transferred to a metal container aboard a freighter bound for New York.

“For this latest trip across the Atlantic, they’re using a cargo vessel with Liberian registry called _The North Star_ ,” Neal informed the listeners. “You can’t do much while the ship is in international waters, but if you look up the schedule for arriving freighters, you can lay a trap in a few weeks and catch Androvitz taking possession of those children when they reach the New York docks. After you take the big boss out of the picture, you can give Interpol the names of the actual scavengers here in Russia. If Interpol doesn’t have the authority to act on Russian soil, then they certainly can have the United States ambassador leak the names to Russia’s Minister of Internal Affairs. That should do the trick. But keep all this on the down low for now. If itchy international policemen decide to jump the gun, Androvitz might get wind of it and go to ground.”

“This isn’t my first rodeo, Caffrey,” Hughes jumped into the conversation. “We’ll be cautious and not muck anything up on our end. Now, tell me what you’ll be doing until we take Androvitz out of play.”

Neal was quick with an answer. “Exactly what the Russian wants me to do. I’ll be making some connections in various countries around the globe in an effort to drum up new emerging markets for his product.”

“Countries such as…..?” Hughes let that thread dangle.

“Um, you know, here and there. I have to look busy to prying eyes so that I don’t blow my cover,” the con man said innocently.

Hughes gave an impressive eyeroll and groaned. Jones stifled a snicker, and Diana coughed into her hand.

“Listen, everybody, I’ve really got to cut this call short,” Neal hurried on, “but I have just one favor to ask.”

“And that would be?” Peter asked with some degree of dread.

“Back in New York, there was a little girl named Alina—eleven years old with dark brown hair and brown eyes. I think that Androvitz might have sold her to somebody a few weeks ago right after he shipped me out. When you Feds obtain all your warrants, maybe you can scour his books and find out where she is. It’s kind of important to me, Peter.”

“I promise that I’ll do what I can, but don’t get your hopes up, Buddy,” Peter answered quietly right before Neal clicked off.

~~~~~~~~~~

Finally, there was a light at the end of the tunnel for the FBI. Very soon, the day would come when Peter could again rejoin the living and Neal could come back to where he belonged. The troubling question was, would he? Over the coming days, the con man’s calls were a bit sporadic, and usually they caused Peter’s gut to go into overdrive.

“I thought I’d make a pitstop in Sweden since I was in the neighborhood,” Neal said nonchalantly to his handler one evening. “Did you know there’s actually a bronze statue of ‘St. George and the Dragon’ in an outdoor square in Stockholm? Maybe you can tell Sara Ellis about that,” he snickered.

“Neal …” Peter said threateningly, but he was talking to dead air.

A few days later, Neal checked in from London and waxed poetic about the Monet paintings displayed at the Tate Museum. Peter had to clench his jaw to keep from growling. It was obvious that his CI was taking advantage of his new-found freedom, and Peter fervently hoped that was _all_ he was taking.

“I’m going through the Chunnel over to Paris tomorrow,” Neal informed Peter during the next call. “I’m sooo looking forward to partaking of some excellent French cuisine.”

“Just make sure that you don’t partake of anything else,” Peter replied menacingly.

Of course, Hughes demanded constant updates concerning Neal’s whereabouts.

“He’s where?” the old man shouted incredulously as Peter reluctantly filled him in.

“Italy,” Peter said quietly.

What the gadabout young man had really said the past evening was that he was in Florence renewing friendships with some old acquaintances. Peter prayed that those old “friends” were not artists like Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, or Botticelli, to name just a few. The FBI agent was now constantly chewing on Tums like breath mints, and decided that when he developed his gastric ulcer, he was going to name it “Neal.”

Hughes visited his agent one last time the night before _The_ _North Star_ was to make its way into the New York harbor. By his own request, Peter would do his impression of the walking dead and be part of the team catching the monster in the act of taking possession of kidnapped children.

Hughes was high on endorphins. “This will be a big win for the Bureau, Peter, and surely worth all the danger and discomfort that you’ve endured. I’ll make sure that you get a commendation for taking a disgusting perverted mobster off the streets and saving countless young lives that he would have destroyed in the future.”

“Well, I think Neal deserves just as much credit, Reese,” Peter interjected. “He put himself in harm’s way to get the crucial intel that he shared with us.”

Hughes sighed and finally addressed the elephant in the room.

“Peter,” he began, “as much as you want to believe in your partner, I think you should face raw facts. Caffrey has had his own agenda from the get-go. He saw a way to slip from our grasp and he took full advantage of it. He’s been swanning through the high spots of Europe like a college student on a backpacking trip. Maybe a more accurate analogy would be a kid in a candy store. I would be shocked if he ever returned to New York, at least not willingly.”

“I think you’re wrong, Reese,” Peter said softly. “Neal has more integrity than that. After this thing goes down tomorrow, I’ll call him and tell him to come home.”

Hughes laughed out loud. “And just how are you going to do that, Peter? Caffrey ditches his burner phone after each conversation with you. There is no way to talk to him if he doesn’t want to hear from you. When we have Androvitz in custody and have informed Interpol about his disgusting little posse in Russia, we’ll also give them Caffrey’s last known whereabouts. I’m not hopeful that they’ll ever find him, but at least no one can say that the Bureau didn’t follow through and perform their due diligence.”

Peter began to have his own doubts about Neal but tucked them far back in his mind and concentrated on the task at hand. The dumfounded stares from his fellow agents were poignant when he joined the takedown team the next morning. However, it was definitely a rewarding pleasure to see the same expression displayed on Androvitz’s face standing beside an open container in a shipyard.

“Perhaps I’m a little tougher to get rid of than you thought, Comrade,” Peter taunted as the Russian glared menacingly.

It turned Peter’s stomach as he watched representatives from Children’s Services gently pull emaciated and lethargic little girls from their foul-smelling prison. All were quickly ferried off to nearby hospitals accompanied by interpreters for treatment of starvation and dehydration. A few were febrile with lung issues and would be given potent antibiotics to combat pneumonia and bronchitis. Each and every one had a long road ahead of them with child psychologists as well as dedicated social workers. Perhaps many would have the opportunity of being once again reunited with loved ones after their identities were confirmed. Unfortunately, many would not have that option because there was no one who would come forward to claim them.

Peter graciously accepted congratulations from his coworkers in the White Collar office. It was harder to field the questions regarding Neal. He offered the excuse that his partner was wrapping things up on his end in Europe and would return soon. “Soon,” however, stretched on for two more weeks. Peter hadn’t heard a word form his CI and the FBI agent pretended that he didn’t see the “I told you so” looks that Hughes directed his way.

El knew that Peter was disappointed, and she tried to make him see things from a different perspective.

“Peter, Neal took deadly risks to do what you asked of him. Maybe that entitles him to finally enjoy his own life a little. If he never comes back, it doesn’t change all that the two of you shared over the last three years. That was real, and you know it.”

“But, El, he would be _really_ free if he just came back for twelve more months. Then it would be legit, and he wouldn’t have to be continually looking over his shoulder.”

“Are you going to take up the chase again, Peter?” El wanted to know. “You realize that you’re the only person who could ever catch him.”

“I don’t think that’s a challenge I want to accept,” Peter admitted honestly.

~~~~~~~~~~

Then, one night while Elizabeth was overseeing a catering event, Peter’s world righted itself. He answered the doorbell of his townhouse to find himself staring into the aquamarine eyes of his wandering CI. He pulled Neal into a warm, heartfelt embrace and practically dragged him into the living room. The agent feared that if he dared to let go, his partner could disappear like an apparition.

Neal laughed at the intensity of his welcome. “Hey, it looks like I was greatly missed on the home front. Now, that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, Buddy.”

“Yeah,” Peter said cynically, “a lot of people have been missing you—Reese Hughes was especially pining away during your absence.”

“Aw, that’s really sweet. Maybe I should have sent him postcards to keep in touch,” Neal teased. “However, I didn’t forget you during my travels. I actually brought you a present,” he said as he presented Peter with the canvas sack he had been holding in his hand.

Peter was almost afraid this “gift” was some purloined piece of art, but instead, he withdrew an impressive metal Viking helmet from its depths, intimidatingly adorned with a set of horns. Suddenly, all the accumulated tension from the past weeks melted away as if by magic and Peter couldn’t stop laughing.

“You are one of a kind, Buddy!” he managed to get out between hiccups. “Now, let me reciprocate the gesture by presenting you with a gift. Actually, it’s a very unique piece of jewelry,” he added as he pulled a new tracking anklet from the coffee table drawer.

“Oh, Peter, you shouldn’t have,” Neal mocked. “I mean, you _really_ shouldn’t have.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~

“I see that the Prodigal Son has finally decided to return home,” Hughes snarled when Neal presented himself in the ASAC’s office the next morning. “It certainly took you long enough to get your ass back here, Caffrey!”

“Well, I had places to go and people to see,” Neal explained. “Of course, I’m sure you understand that was all necessary to keep my cover intact.”

“Right,” Hughes said drolly. “Well now that you have finally decided to grace us with your presence, it’s time to get back to the basics of solving crimes and taking down criminals. Make yourself scarce, Caffrey!” the old man growled before realizing what he had said.

“I mean make yourself scarce as it pertains to my office, not in general,” he quickly amended his ambiguous statement.

Neal, however, really didn’t get a lot of work accomplished that day. He was too busy hobnobbing with the agents in the bullpen and telling outrageous tales about his travels abroad. Everyone was eating it up with a spoon until Peter put a stop to it in the afternoon.

“We need to go downstairs to the interview room, Neal. There’s someone that you’ll need to talk with and identify if you can.”

Neal was puzzled but trotted behind Peter nonetheless. There was a large glass pane in the vestibule that was really a two-way mirror making it possible for voyeurs to see and hear the interrogation of perps. Neal caught his breath as he peered in and caught a glimpse of a wary, scowling little girl seated at the table. Even though her feet didn’t touch the floor, she sat tensely erect with her thin arms wrapped around her middle in a classic defensive posture of being closed off from her surroundings.

“She refuses to talk to us,” Peter explained, “even through an interpreter. She just sort of goes into some kind of trance and looks right through you with vacant eyes whenever she’s approached. It’s probably an extreme form of PTSD. We used Androvitz’s records to track her down recently to a brothel in New Jersey. We think her name is Alina, but that’s about all we know at this point. Is this the little girl that you mentioned to me, Neal? Is this your Alina?”

Neal didn’t answer Peter. He was too busy being galvanized into action and pushing through the door into that claustrophobic little room.

Approaching cautiously from the side, he murmured softly in Russian, “Have you flown away to another place in your mind, little one?”

Suddenly, the dark-haired girl was a blur of animation. She tearfully leapt into Neal’s arms and began babbling.

“You’re real! You’re really real! I knew you’d find me, Neal, I knew it! I just had to wait, and while I was waiting I always kept you in my mind. I imagined us together riding a white unicorn in a green forest or dancing in a beautiful ice castle.”

Neal was fighting back his own tears. “You’re safe now, my brave little bird, and you’ll never have to fly away again.”


End file.
